The Allies Club
by Pozagee
Summary: "They only met once, but it changed their lives forever." Human!AU. Breakfast Club-esque. Five boys from different cliques are forced to spend a Saturday in detention together. While there, they learn more about each other than ever imaginable. Main characters: Russia, America, England, France, China (Human names used). Various pairings (RusAme, FrUk, etc.)
1. Chapter 1

_They only met_ _once, but it changed their lives forever_.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

The principal of Hetahigh was an odd man. He was middle-aged and quite scruffy looking. Not much was known about him—only that he had two grandsons (Feli and Lovi) and that he had a slight crush on the history teacher (Adalbert Beilschmidt).

However, he was not very strict at all. An overprotective man—true—but not to the stressed-out levels his boyfriend was.

However, that day—the last day of the school year—Romeo Vargas was nearly steaming.

It happened every year with the senior class—they would always act out on the last day. This year, however, it was worse; then again, perhaps it was the fact that both his and Mr. Beilschmidt's grandson's had been victims of a few of the pranks. However, whether that was the cause of Mr. Vargas's frustrations or something else, it seemed that the man's anger had been directed at five particular boys, that one special day...

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

"Come on! Fight me, you asshole!" a deep and accented voice rang down the halls, before echoing about the principal's office.

Vargas lifted his head, tilting it slightly. Another shout confirmed his fears.

"Come on, Vanya! It's the last day!"

Vargas sighed, standing up and striding out of his office in search of the impending fight.

"Don't call me 'Vanya', Beilschmidt! And don't call me a 'commie', either!"

"I did no such thing," the second voice spoke with smug tones.

"Do. Not. Lie. To me," the first voice growled. Vargas hurried his steps along, knowing that something was about to go down.

"I'm not. I merely said that you and your sisters should head on back to Russia, where you might actually fit in with your commie buddies."

Vargas just rounded the corner when the first crack of 'fist to skin' contact sounded, followed in quick succession by several shouts and hoots; there was large crowd of students gathered.

"Hey! Break it up!" Mr. Vargas shouted over the students urging on the fighting. There was no reaction.

"What is going on?" Mr. Beilschmidt questioned as he came to stand beside the principal. "Ivan and Bataar again?"

"No. Your grandson."

Mr. Beilschmidt's eyes widened. "Then why aren't you doing anything?!" He didn't give Mr. Vargas a chance to say that he *had* been trying to get them to stop, but he couldn't be heard over the noise. Instead, the strict history teacher yelled, "Braginski! Beilschmidt! Stop fighting this instant!"

The hall miraculously cleared out in the few seconds that followed the loud outburst; cepting, of course, for the two boys that had been fighting.

"Well. Look who it is," Mr. Beilschmidt growl-sighed, glaring at the two tall boys. One of the boys was taller than the other; he was sporting a black eye, and seemed to be favoring his wrist. He was wearing a long tan coat, gloves, and a scarf; odd, since it was very hot at that time. The other was dressed in a blue shirt and tan pants, looking far more put-together than the other, despite having more injuries than the other.

"Ivan. What have we told you about these activities?"

The taller boy let a childishly cruel smile flit across his expression. He swept a hand across his forehead, brushing beige strands from the near-glowing violet eyes. "Do you need talk to me as if I'm a kid? I'm graduating tomorrow night, da?"

"Maybe. I don't really know anymore, what with how you've been doing this year."

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I care?"

Beilschmidt growled. "You should. But I suppose a criminal like you wouldn't really."

Mr. Vargas sighed, trying a more gentle approach. "Honestly, Ivan. What are we going to do with you?"

Ivan's smile grew, as did the cold glint in his eyes. "Throw me back to the 'commies', as Gilbert wants to?" he offered.

Mr. Beilschmidt turned to look at his albino grandson, who was attempting to stifle his giggles. "We'll talk later, Gil. Get to class."

The shorter one—Gilbert Beilschmidt—nodded solumnly, walking away; not, of course, before shooting a mocking look at the now-glaring Russian.

"Well Mr. Braginski? What do you have to say?" Beilschmidt snarled. He was obviously upset by his normally-strong grandson being beaten up by someone like Ivan.

"Uh...good-night and good-luck Hetahigh! See you next year?" Ivan guessed. Vargas sighed, whilst Beilschmidt shook his head.

"Do you want to stay in high school or in the jail for the rest of your life? Or do you want to graduate tomorrow evening?" Beilschmidt said seriously.

"Whatever gets me away from your *wonderful* family fastest."

Vargas intervened. "Behave, Ivan. In order for you to graduate, you must serve a detention tomorrow, under my instruction."

Ivan smirked at the "under my instruction" part, figuring the his principal was a pushover.

Then he realized that "tomorrow" was a Saturday.

"Um, I don't mean to correct you or anything...but tomorrow is Saturday, da?" Ivan questioned, changing his voice to fit his childishly innocent face.

Beilschmidt smirked, slightly. "Indeed it is. Saturday detentions: reserved specifically for the seniors who decide to act out on the last day of school. *Da*?"

Ivan bowed his head forward slightly, a bit of a dark aura casting over him. If one listened closely, they could hear him chanting slightly under his breath, "kol kol kol..."

Vargas sighed, as the bell rang. "Adal...don't you have a class?"

Mr. Beilschmidt grumbled something unintelligible, before slouching into his classroom, like a child in trouble.

Ivan glanced up at Vargas, glaring slightly. "It isn't right. Gilbert gets nothing and-"

"Gilbert's grandfather will make sure things get handled." Ivan merely gave Mr. Vargas a hard look.

"Yeah. Right."

Vargas frowned. "Remember. Tomorrow at 7:00 am."

Ivan rose an eyebrow, before walking slowly down the hall.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Vargas was walking back to his office after the fight, when he heard someone shuffling behind him. He paused briefly, before turning around.

There was no one there.

The principal shrugged, rubbing his greying-brown hair from his forehead; it must have been early-morning stress getting to him.

However, when he continued his trek to his office, the overwhelming sense of being followed took over again. Again, Vargas paused before turning around.

Nothing.

Vargas turned back, walking again. This time, however, when he felt the person behind him, he whirled around quickly-

And nearly fell backwards, at seeing how close the person was to him.

The figure was not very tall, though it was shrouded in a heavy, dark cloak—that made them look rather ominous.

Similar to how Ivan was chanting under his breath, this figure was as well:

"Santo Rita Mita Meada Ringo Jonah Tito Marlon Jack La Toya Janet Michael Dumbledora The Explorer! I've summoned you from the depths of hell! SHOW YOURSELF!" the boy—for now the voice was obviously male—shouted, whilst flinging an arm at the principal.

Mr. Vargas stared at the white hand, holding his breath; nothing happened.

"Ah, well...this usually works..."

Mr. Vargas let forth a shallow growl, yanking the hood of the cloak down.

A head of wild dyed-redish black hair fluffed out. Bright green eyes stared through the waves, with bushy, catipillar-esque eyebrows making the eyes further shadows.

"Mr. Arthur Kirkland. What the hell are you trying to do?" Though his voice was still calm, Mr. Vargas's face showed his irritation.

"It's Iggy," the boy corrected. In addition to his dark, choppy hair, the boy was also wearing leather-y clothes in the same colors.

"Arthur, your parents gave you a nice name-"

"I go by Iggy. That's all," the boy interrupted.

Everyone knew about the odd, punk-rocker boy with gothic tendencies. The boy was nice and polite enough (he hardly talked), but he was known for having odd quirks—such as practicing witchcraft.

"Well, Iggy," Mr. Vargas sighed, putting emphasis on the nickname, "what were you trying to do?"

"I was trying to put a curse on you, sir."

"And why would you do that?"

"You were annoying me today. So I tried to summon some demons to smite you."

Mr. Vargas bowed his head, incredulously. "Honestly, Mr. Kirkland. This is not a healthy habit."

"But it's rather fun."

Mr. Vargas looked at the boy. Was cursing your teachers—attempted, anyway—against school rules? Well, the boy had meant harm to him, anyway...

"Mr. Kirkland, you are sentenced to Saturday school tomorrow for attempted...cursing? of a teacher."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "May I bring my cloak?"

Mr. Vargas blinked, before shaking his head slightly. "Have at it."

Arthur nodded. "Very well," he said, before walking away.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Alfred F. Jones jogged ahead of everyone in his gym class, laughing at his panting classmates.

"Come on! Keep up, bitches!" he smirked, before running faster.

"Alfred!" a quiet voice sounded beside him. The lively boy glanced to the side, before beaming again.

"Hey Mattie! What's up, bro?"

The other boy looked much like Alfred—they were obviously twins; they both had blond hair, glasses, and blue eyes. However, Matthew had more wavy hair, with a single knot sticking up, and his eyes were more indigo than the sky-blue his brother's were.

Matthew also had a perpetually worried expression on his face. "Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio are getting annoyed..."

"By me?" Alfred smirked back at the 'Bad Touch Trio', as they had been dubbed. "So? Do I LOOK like I CARE what those dudes think?"

Mattie was huffing as much as Mr. Vargas's younger grandson, Feliciano. "Alfred, you're going to get in trouble!"

Alfred rolled his eyes; he was still going strong. "Trouble? Come on, I haven't been in 'trouble' since second grade! Besides, it's our last day of high school in our senior year! Why not 'stir the pot a bit', as Mama says?"

The younger twin sighed. "Al, I don't think that's what he meant..."

Their family was pretty odd, if one really thought about it. Their "mama" was technically a male, though he was as calm and gentle as a woman (not counting that girl in their grade, Liz). Their father, however, was quite cold and stoic all the time; Matthew and their adopted brother Peter got along with him fine, but Alfred...

"If they wanna mess with me, they can go ahead; I'd be able to beat them, real easy," Alfred smirked. They had finally done all the laps, and Matthew was catching his breath against the chain-link fence.

Matthew sighed heavily. "Gilbert...already...got beat up...by Ivan..."

Alfred laughed, though it was rather bitter. "Figures, that stupid commie hogging all the fun." Mattie shook his head.

Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert had finished, and were laid out in the grass, laughing and such. Ludwig—Gilbert's younger brother—was cheering on Feli, whilst Antonio did the same with Lovi.

The last person to finish was a badly flushing boy named Roderich. Gilbert pushed him about, before Liz (the scary-as-hell chick) got the albino to leave the out-of-shape Austrian alone.

Alfred shook his head. "Everyone is so unhealthy here, jeas!" he said, rather loudly. He got several glares, but only Matthew said something.

"Al...you eat tons of Micky-D's... do you think THAT's healthy?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "But I at least exercise regularly. Unlike these fat losers..."

"Alfred..." Mattie warned, seeing as their classmates were now openly glaring at his older twin. The teacher was also starting to notice something...

"I mean, really? Four laps around the track isn't that bad. Does it really take TOO MUCH effort to exercise? I mean look at that Edelstein kid-"

"Alfred Jones," Mr. Køhler said, in his loud—nearly as obnoxious as Alfred's—voice. Alfred froze slightly, before turning around.

"Uh, what's up Coach?" Mathias Køhler was also the head baseball coach—the sport at which Alfred was best at. Needless to say, Alfred respected Mathias Køhler above all other teachers.

"What were you saying about your classmates?"

"I was just sayin' how it's not good for us to not exercise regularly..." Alfred murmured. He HAD been saying that...though in a less-than-nice way...

"No, I heard you mention Mr. Edelstein's name. What were you saying?" At hearing his name, Roderich lifted his head. Liz was giving Alfred a warning look that basically said, "say something I don't like, and you will be beat up by my home-ec class!"

"Well..." Oh, what the hell? "I was telling Mattie about how Roderich over there can't run worth a shit, and how he's probably one of the most out-of-shape people in the school, cause he can't DO anything."

People gaped at Alfred, though he was well-known for his rude/blunt tongue. Roderich bowed his head, becoming even redder. Liz was slowly making her way over to Alfred. Gilbert was—surprisingly—patting the Austrian's back.

"Alfred Jones!" Mr. Køhler yelped, overcoming his shock. "You...don't talk about things you know nothing about! Apologize!"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'm sorry that you are a horrible runner, Roderich."

Mr. Køhler had to physically restrain Gilbert and Liz from jumping on the star baseball player.

"That's IT! Either you serve Saturday detention tomorrow, or you're off the team!" Alfred gaped.

"But...it's the WEEKEND! And we graduate tomorrow!"

Mr. Køhler's lips thinned. "Be there at 7:00am. You'll be done before graduation, don't worry."

As the Coach rounded up the other students, Alfred gaped at Mattie.

"This sucks!"

Matthew sighed, shaking his head. "You brought this on yourself, Al."

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Gilbert was still fuming when he, Antonio, and Francis entered the locker room.

"The nerve of that asshole! He doesn't know a THING about Roddy!" he fumed. Antonio nodded in agreement, before splashing some water on his face (the Spaniard was so handsome and sweet-smelling, he needn't shower after gym).

Francis sighed. "Oui, I know. What happened again?" the boy questioned. He stripped of his shirt, revealing his pale, blemish-free skin; Francis was known to be even more handsome than Antonio, though his smell ANYTIME was not great (as he reeked of French cologne ALL THE TIME).

Gilbert sighed. "In our old school, Roddy and some kid from Switzerland got in a fight. They used to be good friends but...I really don't know what happened...but things went down, and Roderich got his legs broken. Permanently deformed, I guess..."

"Poor Roderich..."

"I know..." Gilbert sighed. He pried off his own shirt, revealing several bruises—remnants of the earlier fight. "Stupid Russian," he muttered.

Francis sighed, glancing at his friend. "We keep telling you to stay away from him. He's just a no-good bully."

Gilbert laughed, grabbing a bright red towel with a black bird on it, and making his way towards the shower. "Hardly sums him up. The piece of shit will be in jail the day after we graduate, most likely. You know he used to beat up Toris and his friends, when they were dating."

Francis walked with him, carrying a blue, white, and red striped towel. "I know. I feel so bad for Toris; he's such a dear..."

Gilbert laughed. "You're a real softie, sometimes." Francis shrugged, smiling.

They climbed into the shower, before shedding their pants. Gilbert and Francis were very confident about their bodies, but they—or Francis at least—still had a bit of teenage awkwardness radiating about them.

The steam was rising around them, leaving only their heads visible. Francis ran his hands through his hair, making the long golden locks lay flat against his neck.

After his quick rinse-down, he reached out to shut his shower-head off. Unfortunately...

"AHHHGGG! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU PERV!"

Francis jerked his hand back, before swiping at the steam.

Oops.

Antonio's boyfriend—being as short as he was—had easily been lurking in the fog.

Francis blushed deeply, retracting his hand. By now, Mr. Køhler had come running, his eyes and hair wild.

"What is-happening...?"

Francis blushed deeper, bowing his head.

He was in sooo much trouble...

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Yao loved school—at almost unhealthy levels. He loved nearly every class (though not art or physical education). He was probably the only one who looked forward to Mr. Beilschmidt's AP world history class, at the end of the day.

Yao walked into the classroom, settling down in front. "Nǐ hǎo, Mr. Beilschmidt!"

The man with the long blond hair glanced at his star student. "Ja. Guten tag, Yao. We aren't doing much today, just a small verbal quiz."

Yao smiled. He loved spreading his vast knowledge to others. "That's great, aru!"

Once everyone in the class had settled down into their seats, Yao sat erect.

Yao's AP World History class had two types of people in it: The kids that cheated, and Yao (basically, everyone cheated off the Chinese kid). Therefore, he was mildly popular for that reason.

Yao—it was said—had an obsession with school, especially with history. There was also a rumor that he had passed this trait onto his many siblings (especially the sophomore one, Kiku).

"All right, seeing as it's the last day and most of you already checked-out a couple of weeks ago, we're taking it rather easy today." Yao sighed, as others did high-fives.

Mr. Beilschmidt clapped his hands together. "Pop quiz."

This time, the students' dismay was audible.

"First electrically-lighted city-ja, Yao."

"The first electrically-lighted city was Wabash, Indiana. It happened March thirty-first, in 1980."

"Very good," the teacher praised. Yao beamed. "Now, who invented the lightbulb? Yao?"

"Thomas Edison, American, born-"

"Alright, we don't need his whole bio, thank you Yao," Mr. Beilschmidt gave a slight smile. The students chuckled at this, causing Yao to frown, before shaking them off.

"Okay; how about this one: When was the end of the USSR?"

This time a thin boy with glasses (also in the front) rose his hand.

"Yes Roderich?" Mr. Beilschmidt questioned.

"The USSR collapsed in September of 1991, sir," the teenager answered. Yao cringed, though he also gave a half smile—no doubt Mr. Beilschmidt would call on himself to correct the Austrian boy.

However, he was wrong. "Correct, Mr. Edelstein. How about-"

"Mr. Beilschmidt! If I may interrupt, aru..."

The history teacher raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Though September was when the Baltic states left the USSR, it officially collapsed in December."

The teacher's brow scrunched slightly. "Yao, that's not correct-"

"No, I'm sure. It was December twenty-fifth, 1991."

"Yao, it was September."

"SIR, it was December, aru."

Both teacher and student were starting to get irritated. "Do not correct your teachers, Yao."

"Oh, I don't," Yao placated, before murmuring, "except for when they're wrong."

At that, the old German whirled on the teen. "What did you say?"

Yao paled, before blushing darkly. "N-nothing sir."

Mr. Beilschmidt growled. "I expected better of you. You seemed better than these other hooligans." Yao stared at his teacher.

"Detention, tomorrow at seven. Don't be late."

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

**_A/N This is a Breakfast Club-esque fanfic, though I won't go directly from the movie (due to the fact that I changed the pairings, and had some other things in mind for them to do, that was not in the movie). So..._**

**_Criminal: Ivan _**

**_Basket-Case: Arthur_**

**_Athlete: Alfred_**

**_Prince: Francis_**

**_Brain: Yao_**

**_So... The Allies Club!_**

**_Pairings:_**

**_Arthur/Francis_**

**_Alfred/Ivan_**

**_Arthur/Alfred (former)_**

**_Antonio/Lovino (mentioned)_**

**_Ludwig/Feli (mentioned)_**

**_Ivan/Toris (unrequited/former)_**

**_Also, some names I made up for people:_**

**_Grandpa Rome: Romeo Vargas_**

**_Germania: Adalbert Beilschmidt_**

**_Mongolia: Bataar_**

**_General Winter: Viktor Winter_**

**_Unofficial names:_**

**_Denmark: Mathias Køhler_**

**_Also, Finland is Mama, and Sweden is Father. Yep. And they are still both guys. _**

**_So, if you want me to continue this, please review!_**


	2. Chapter 2

"...we were brainwashed..."

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

At about 6:30 am, a bright red Maserati pulled into the empty parking lot of Hetahigh. Once it was parked, Romeo stepped out, giving a half-grimace, half-smile at the garish sports car.

Mr. Vargas loved this car, truly...but he felt awkward driving it; he was—after all—a grandfather. In fact, this car was shared by his grandsons (not that either ever used it much, for when they went out, they usually took their respective boyfriends' cars), but they let him borrow it, seeing as he did not have a car of his own.

The principal sighed hopelessly, eyeing the car. They would be gone soon, his grandsons; so would Adalbert's. Both men loved—and often spoiled—the boys: It was a grandparent's duty.

But it wasn't only the "lack of duty" that would truly drive Romeo mad—no. No, it was the fact that Feliciano's smiling face and placating manner would no longer be there to sooth the principal's nerves on rough days; It was the fact that Lovino's joking glare and faux-pessimistic attitude wouldn't be there to make him laugh; It was the fact that Gilbert's over-the-top attitude and and prankster tendencies (even though said tendancies were dancing around "bully" status) wouldn't be there to lighten the mood; It was that Ludwig's cleaning obsession wouldn't be there for both Mr. Vargas and Mr. Beilschmidt to chuckle about.

Then there were also other students whom Mr. Vargas would truly miss: Roderich Edelstein (who was going of to Juilliard, to be a composer), Antonio Fernandez Carriedo (he was going to be a nurse, due to his contagious, happy emotion), and Wang Yao (the Valedictorian that year) were just a few of the jewels... It truly was a great class.

But where there was good, there was also bad: Enkhbat Bataar (the terrifyingly sadistic bully), Sadiq Adnan (Mr. Obnoxious-on-so-many-levels), and Ivan Braginski (just his existence destroyed the harmony of Hetahigh).

Now Ivan...he was an odd boy—always had been since he entered the school Freshman year. Mr. Vargas had already been around Kat—Ivan's older sister—for three years; however, that didn't prepare him for her little brother.

Kat had always been pretty amicable; she was rather gentle and goofy, though she was very emotional. Ivan was...well, everyone just accepted the fact that Ivan was impossible to describe (the boy was bipolar, Mr. Vargas was sure—he even had contradicting personalities). So, due to the impossible-ness that was Ivan Braginski, you just didn't "deal" with him; toss him in detention, and he'd be fine.

Therefore, Romeo had dealt with the tall blond on numerous occasions—namely at detentions and such.

As for the others that were in detention, he had seen them on occasion, but never for reasons like this! Arthur (or as he liked to call himself, Iggy) was a loner, and only made appearances at the yearly band concert. Alfred was the biggest and best athlete the school had ever seen. Francis had been student council president, prom king, and several other positions that constituted as "popular". Yao was—as stated earlier—valedictorian; that basically summed him up.

In conclusion, they weren't the type to be found in detentions.

Mr. Vargas shook his head, sighing. He hated considering the students in "types" or "classes", but whether he liked it or not, those stereotypes were there; there was nothing anybody could do to break down the social barriers, and there most likely never would be a way.

Therefore, Mr. Vargas was not ignorant when he realized who all would be present at that detention that day; someone from each "group": A troublemaker of a criminal, a burnt-out punk-rocker of a basket case, a popular star of an athlete, a popular socialite of a prince, and an quiet antisocial brain—thats all there was to it.

The principal sighed, heading to the doors, keys in hand—today was going to be a long day.

A sudden gurgling/sputtering sound caused Mr. Vargas to jump, dropping his keys in the process. He whirled around, only to see a red minivan parking. He immediately recognized it as Yao's, seeing the plate said, "Big Bro".

Mr. Vargas glanced at his watch: 6:35.

"A bit early, don't you think?" Mr. Vargas asked, as the small teen ran up to the school. He shot the principal a winning grin.

"Yes sir, but I like to be exactly twenty-five minutes early for everything. Keeps me ahead of the game, you know?"

Mr. Vargas liked Yao—good students like him were oh-so hard to come by anymore—but sometimes he felt like shaking him. Honestly, what kid thought about being early?! When Romeo had been a teenager...well, it was all a bit fuzzy. But he sure hadn't been kissing-up to the teachers, and trying to be 'Valedictorian'. Yao was an amazing student, and exceptionally kind as well...he just needed to remember to live, sometimes.

Yao shifted in front of him, making Mr. Vargas jolt out of his thoughts.

"O-Ok. Very well. Head on into the library."

Yao nodded, before disappearing.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

At exactly 6:50, two vehicles pulled into the parking lot: A tacky American-flag motorcycle and a white convertable. Alfred and Francis stepped out (and off) of their respective modes-of-transportation—both looked none-too-happy.

"This totally sucks! This is our graduation day, and I have to spend it stuck in school with a bunch of losers," Alfred grumbled, flicking up the collar on his bomber-jacket.

"Then perhaps you shouldn't pick on other kids in your grade, Mr. Jones," Mr. Vargas said blandly. Alfred smiled charmingly at the principal, before continuing his rant as he walked in the school.

"Monsieur Vargas... There has been a mistake! I didn't mean to...touch...Lovi, he was just-"

"Save it, Francis. To the library." Mr. Vargas eyed the boy coldly—out of everyone serving today, Francis was the one that he felt the most anger at.

The blond looked ruffled, but he suddenly forced himself to stand taller. "I didn't grope your grandson—not intentionally-"

"In."

Francis shifted, before sighing. "Yes Monsieur."

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

A few minutes later, a loud, pulsating sound broke the calm spring morning. Sure enough, a large black van with questionable designs pulled in and parked. Mr. Vargas recognized the music as Metal...something. Well, all he knew was that Gilbert loved to listen to that type of 'music' on occasion. (Frankly, Mr. Vargas preferred opera, and rock—though only from before the 80's).

Iggy—as the principal was sure that the odd boy was the driver—killed the engine. However, he did not climb out.

A few minutes ticked by, before the door swung open and the boy stumbled out (an ominous cloud of smoke swirling about him).

At the older man's baffled look, Iggy explained: "I couldn't get out until it was 6:59. You see, fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six, and fifty-seven are not prime numbers."

Mr. Vargas blinked. Before he could question the boy's logic or the the awkward smells coming from him, the boy vanished inside the school.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

At 7:01, Mr. Vargas heard voices—or rather shouts—coming from down the street. Sure enough, he soon saw his missing delinquent (pink scarf and all) walking down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace. However, the young girl beside him seemed to be rushing.

Natalya—Nat for short—Braginski. The terrifying sister of Ivan, that was in the same year as Kiku. That young girl made Ivan seem angelic, what with her dangerous tendencies of keeping a switch-blade on her at all times. Mr. Vargas would have reprimanded her about it a long time ago...but he was—frankly—too afraid.

The girl was presently saying something to her brother in Russian, looking quite flustered. "-No mne ochen' nravitsya yego!"

"I said nyet, Nat! He is not a good influence on you!"

"Just because you don't get along with him-"

"Nyet! You will not date him!" Ivan shouted, his face gaining a light pink color. Mr. Vargas nearly shuddered at how terrifyingly out-of-character it was for the boy.

"Why not?!"

There was a brief pause, before Ivan muttered, "Yego sem'ya iz razlichnykh sotsial'nykh klassov, vy znayete, chto. Otnosheniya, kak, ne poluchilos'."

The girl glared at her brother as they made their way to where Mr. Vargas was standing.

"Why don't you go to visit Liz? I thought I heard she was cooking Borscht today..."

The silver-haired girl sighed heavily. "Whatever. See you later."

"Poka, sestra."

As soon at Nat walked away, Mr. Vargas murmured, "Nice of you to finally join us, Braginski."

The boy plastered on a fake smile. "I had something to deal with this morning." The smile became slightly menacing. "I'm sure it hasn't been that much of a problem."

Mr. Vargas decided to ignore the threatening aura his student was giving off, opting to herd him inside.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Yao was shifting nervously in his seat, glancing at the other occupants in the room. Francis was fixing his hair, looking very put-out about being at the detention; Alfred was chewing gum, bopping his head to unheard music; Iggy had his head tilted forward, and was apparently just staring at everyone through his dark hair.

Yao hated getting in trouble—it made him feel dirty, like there was a stain on his permanent record. But if getting in trouble made him feel weird, being around these people he didn't have any idea of how to deal with...well, that just made him feel the epitome of uncomfortability...Is that a word?

The teen-genius's musings were cut short when the library door opened, revealing Ivan in all his tall and intimidating glory. The Russian made a bee-line for Yao, a creepy little smile on his face.

"That is my chair, da?"

Yao shuddered. "D-da..." He quickly moved to—reluctantly—sit by the goth kid.

Alfred popped his gum, causing Francis to glare.

Mr. Vargas sighed heavily. "Enough. The last thing any of us wanted was for this Saturday School Detention thing to take place. Unfortunately, you seniors decided to act-up on the last day of school-"

"-but Monsieur Vargas, I told you-"

"-come on, I was just being honest-"

"-the answer was wrong, what was I supposed to do-"

"-hoheo taralna, rondero tarel-"

"-I beat up Gilbert. I admit it-"

"ENOUGH!" Mr. Vargas shouted, frustrated; the hot-blooded-Italian-ness was coming through. "You kids need to learn responsibility! You are graduating TONIGHT!" He sighed heavily, before taking a few calming breaths. "You are all truly good kids-" Ivan snorted, causing several glares to be sent his way. "-but you all need to grow up, and really consider who you are..."

The principal's amber-colored eyes widened. "...who...you are..."

"Uh, is he broken?" Alfred asked Francis.

"THAT'S IT!" Mr. Vargas exploded, though it was more of a happy-explosion. The teens glanced at each other, all a bit nervous, now.

"You will each write a report about who you are. Pure and simple."

Ivan snorted. "It sounds stupid."

"Maybe...but your graduating depends on this essay." Five pairs of eyes widened.

Mr. Vargas ignored their hushed and baffled responses, glancing at his watch. "It is...7:06. You have exactly eight hours and fifty four minutes to think about why you're here—to think about who you are and who you want to become."

He turned suddenly, making his way to the library doors.

"I will be right across the hall, should you need anything...or decide to cause any trouble."

The teens stared after him.

"Good luck!"

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

**_A/N I know it's shorter than the other chapter and exceptionally boring, but—hey! it's a filler. _**

**_BTW, thank you for the butt-load of reviews/follows/favorites! You guys are epicness rolled up into something epic!_**

**_Are the characters in-character for the most part? I know Iggy is a bit strange... XD_**

**_As stated in the last chapter—and reinforced this chapter—this fic will not EXACTLY follow the movie (mostly because I prefer different pairings, and have different ideas for their interactions). Also, let's face it: Should they all have been guys and the movie a slash movie, the pairings WOULD have been different indeed. XD_**

**_No mne ochen' nravitsya yego! (Russian) but I really like him!_**

**_Nyet (Russian) no_**

**_Yego sem'ya iz razlichnykh sotsial'nykh klassov, vy znayete, chto. Otnosheniya, kak, ne poluchilos'. (Russian) His family is from a different social class; you know that. Relationships like that don't work out._**

**_Poka, sestra (Russian) Bye, sister. _**

**_And lastly, Iggy's little chant of "-hoheo taralna, rondero tarel-" is from a little anime called Kuroshitsuji, or Black Butler. XD What can I say? I like Alois. And Grell... XD_**

**_Sorry! Sidetracked!_**

**_I will update as soon as possible!_**

**_Anyway, please review!_**


	3. Chapter 3

_"_Wouldn't I be OUTSTANDING in that capacity?

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

There was a brief moment of silence, before a loud yawn resounded through the large library.

"Ugh! This is boooring!" Alfred exclaimed, causing Yao to make shushing sounds.

"Be quiet! This is a library!" Yao's eyes darted around, before focusing on the paper set in front of him; as soon as Mr. Vargas had said "essay", the paper seemed to miraculously appear in front of the Chinese boy. He hoped he could finish his essay early, for he still…hadn't exactly pieced together his Valedictorian speech.

Sometimes, Yao wondered at that whole system. High schools and such always asked the smartest kid in the class to create a speech about "how great these years have been" and "what fun we've all had". If people truly wanted to know about that stuff, they should have chosen a popular kid, like Alfred or Francis for the job; Yao had had NO time to enjoy high-school, what with all the Advanced Placement courses, and the Honors classes.

He was suddenly jolted out of his brooding by Alfred's annoying voice; said teen rolled his eyes. "So? No one 's here but us, dude!"

"Please refrain from calling me "dude", aru!"

"Aru? Are you trying to bark like a dog, 'cause you're doin' it wrong-"

Francis shot a glare at the cocky baseball player beside him. "Will you be quiet! I'm trying to concentrate!"

"Concentrate? HA!" Alfred laughed loudly again, causing both Francis and Yao to glare. "You were complainin' to Vargas about even being here! Why are you trying to "concentrate" on the stupid essay?"

Francis pursed his lips. He was no-where-near the smartest in his class, but he had all As and Bs, and an image to uphold. If the choice was write the essay or not graduate, then his decision was easy. "If I must be here and write an essay, then I wish to make it a good essay, oui?"

"Oui? Is that like Russian or something?" Alfred (who had chose to take four years of Spanish) looked around, ignoring how Francis became very red. "Hey, where'd that Ruski go, anyway?"

Everyone looked around, until Yao let out a rather girly shriek.

"Aiiiiyaaaah! Where did you come from?!" Yao yelped, eyes wide as he stared at Ivan, who had somehow managed to sneak up behind him.

Ivan smiled, as he stretched. "From my chair, silly. I needed to stretch my legs, da?"

Alfred snorted. "_Da."_

Ivan's smile disappeared for a second, before it was replaced by an even-more-menacing grin. "You know how I ended up in here, don't you, Jones?"

Alfred opened his mouth, about to say something when Francis elbowed him in the ribs. Alfred made an "oomph"-type sound, before turning to glare at his table partner.

"What was that for?!"

Francis leaned in, his long hair tickling Alfred's nose. "He beat up Gilbert Beilschmidt! I wouldn't pick a fight with him, if I were you."

"But you're not me!" Alfred said, as though that was the most obvious thing in the world—perhaps to him, it was. He stood, then, popping his knuckles. "Never threaten Alfred F. Jones, Bragginski-hey!"

Ivan had apparently gotten bored with waiting for Alfred to decide whether or not he wanted to fight (he had pulled himself up onto a low bookshelf, and was flipping through a couple of books). Yao looked up at Ivan uneasily, before he bowed his head over his large piece of paper again. Francis did the same, though Alfred just sighed dramatically, playing with his pencil.

"Who am I…who am I…what am I…?" Yao murmured to himself. He suddenly laughed to himself, before saying in quieter tones, "I'm a panda…"

Iggy—who they all thought had passed out a few minutes ago—looked up at Yao through his hair, scooting away. Yao blushed, realizing that he had been so weird, that he scared the weirdest kid in their grade.

"Never mind, aru…"

Alfred was biting the end of his eraser, deciding he should at least write SOMETHING. After all, he COULDN'T miss the State Championship that was to take place next Saturday! As it was, Ludwig was going into the military and would be leaving soon…they were COUNTING on him.

Alfred sighed, slamming his pencil down. Francis sighed dramatically, flipping his hair out of his face. "What now?"

"The quiet is too loud! I am thinkin' too much!" Alfred slammed his head onto the table.

Yao rolled his eyes, murmuring under his breath, "Oh, we wouldn't want THAT, now would we?" This caused Iggy to snort under his breath.

"Isn't that the POINT? To THINK?" Francis's face scrunched up, as if he smelled something foul.

Ivan suddenly let an eerie chuckle escape his lips. Yao—who had once again forgotten the large Russian's presence—jumped at the sound.

"Silly Bonnefoy. Fredka can't think. Too many footballs to the head, Da?"

"Uh, no," Alfred frowned, his face mirroring Francis's expression. "It's called a "BASEBALL", you stupid Ruski. But…then again…" Alfred laughed. "What do you guys have in commie-land anyway? Like…sledding?"

Ivan jumped off the bookshelf, stretching; he then slowly walked over to stand in front of Alfred. "You shouldn't speak of things you know nothing of, da?"

Francis glanced at both boys, scooting away, slightly. He knew that Alfred had a tendency to let his mouth get away from him; add that to the fact that Alfred is a MAJOR busy-body (and has somehow managed to learn nearly everything good AND bad about everyone): The boy possessed a…a way…to truly annoy/hurt people with his words.

Francis could recall several of such instances: There was that time in Kindergarten when Alfred had mocked Gilbert for the boy's "weird looks"; then there was that time when Alfred made fun of that Romanian foreign exchange student, Vladimir, for his overly sharp teeth; Francis could even remember when Alfred had dared to mock HIM for his long hair (by calling him "Rock of Ages").

The worst time he could recall—however—had been around third grade. He—Francis—hadn't PERSONALLY witnessed this specific occurrence, but apparently Liz and Antonio had (for they had told him what happened).

Apparently Iggy (then "Arthur") had been playing somewhere on the playground with Alfred. At those times, they were close friends (even referring to each other as "brothers") therefore, it came as a shock, when Arthur ran into the classroom after recess, tears streaming down his face…

~Flashback~

"Francis! Hey!" Antonio shouted, coming to sit on the top of the blond's desk. Unlike Francis (who had ALWAYS looked rather handsome), Antonio was rather awkwardly proportioned, with large beaver-like teeth (which happened to make his already-large smile even bigger).

Francis didn't smile back at the boy. Earlier that year, he had volunteered (at his mother's insistence) to work in the Junior Student Council. Unfortunately, that meant spending the majority of his recesses inside working; therefore, he was rather bitter about the whole thing.

"Francis! You wouldn't BELIEVE what happened!" Antonio shouted once again, grabbing ahold of Francis's shoulders. Francis glared.

"I don't really care. Now…" the blond and brunette jumped as the doors were suddenly slammed open. Arthur Kirkland came striding in there, rubbing furiously at his face.

Now Francis and Arthur had never gotten along (especially since that time in preschool, when Francis cut off Arthur's long hair, leaving an awkwardly choppy due), but Francis was curious as to what could cause his normally-stoic classmate to cry.

"What happened?" Francis asked Antonio. Unfortunately, the young Spaniard had turned away, and was talking to Gilbert and Liz.

"Antonio!" he exclaimed. Finally, Antonio turned around, laughing.

"Yeah Francis?"

"What happened with Arthur?" Francis asked, trying to reign in his temper at Antonio's nonchalance.

"Oh, that," Antonio replied. "Well-"

"It was Alfred! He was totally unawesome, but it was still funny!" Gilbert laughed, throwing his arm over Liz's shoulder. The tomboy threw off his arm, holding a fist up threateningly.

"Why don't you go play with Toris!" she growled.

Antonio laughed at their antics, ignoring how Francis flushed. "I doubt Toris would like that much-"

"Will SOMEONE tell me what happened?!" Francis growled, suddenly fed-up.

Antonio and Liz stared at Francis, seemingly confused. Gilbert—on the other hand—walked away, having lost interest.

"What happened at recess?!" Francis asked once again. Oh, how he hated missing out on these important events.

Antonio shrugged. "Nothing much."

Liz slapped the boy upside the head. "Not much?! Alfred made Arthur CRY!"

"Well, there was that, but I was playing four square with Lovino, Ludwig, and Feliciano. You wouldn't believe it! Lovi tried to beat up on Ludwig, 'cause Ludwig accidently hit the ball at-"

"-and they were just playing around on the Fort, when Alfred said he wanted to go off and play with Heracles ALONE-"

"-Feli got really mad, and went off to play with Kiku. You know, Yao's little brother with the creepy eyes? And then-"

"-so then Alfred started saying all this crap-"

"-and then Ludwig and I went over to play with Gilbert, and he found this little bird-"

"-called him ugly and weird and all that-"

"-decided shove it in his pocket, but Sadiq says that's animal abuse-"

"-I don't care about Gilbert's silly bird! What happened with Arthur and Alfred?!" Francis exclaimed, pushing Antonio away. He pouted slightly, before walking over to Gilbert (who was showing off his little yellow chick).

Francis looked at Liz expectantly.

Elizaveta Hedervary was quite-possibly the toughest and scariest chick in their grade. However, it was also a well-known fact that she liked cooking, and gossip; she always knew everything that was going on.

"OK, so it was like this: Alfred and Arthur were playing up on the Fort—you know, up by the big silver slide?—well anyway, Alfred was getting bored playing "Pirates", so he said he wanted to go play with Heracles and Sadiq, since they were hanging out around Gilbert and everyone. So Alfred said he wanted to go off and play with them ALONE, and Arthur got all mad, 'cause he didn't have anyone to play with and so he said Alfred couldn't go off, 'cause Alfred PROMISED to play with him, apparently. Alfred got all mad, calling Arthur a liar, and that he was like "in love" with him and stuff, and Arthur got all mad, or something, and started crying. Alfred didn't want to get in trouble so he left, and told everyone to not to tell the teachers, 'cause he didn't want to get in trouble, so don't tell anyone, OK? And then Arthur said they weren't friends anymore, and Alfred said they never were, which is sorta mean. But still, don't tell anyone, cause it's a secret, OK?"

Francis hardly made sense of any of Liz's rambling, but from what he figured, Alfred and Arthur had had another of their ridiculous fights, and there was no "kiss and make up" this time…

Francis looked up at Arthur who had wiped away his tears, and was drawing something on a piece of paper—but only for a moment.

"Oh, alright. Then what happened with Feli today?"

~End Flashback~

Looking back on those times, Francis marveled at how uncaring they seemed to be about how upset Arthur was. Granted, Francis and him were borderline enemies…but no one else really had anything against the bushy-browed Brit…that he knew of, anyway.

But they were kids; things like that little drama-fest happened all the time.

Francis vaguely wondered…what if he or someone else HAD told the teacher… Would Alfred be nicer? Would Arthur still be "Arthur", and not "Iggy"? Would everything be different?

He supposed it didn't matter now.

"-come on, you stupid commie! B-A-S-E-B-A-L-L! You know, BEST SPORT EVER? AMERICA'S FAVORITE PASTTIME, DUDE!"

"Da, I have heard of it. I just really see no point to it."

Alfred gave Ivan a dumb look. "Uh, it's fun…?"

"It doesn't really seem like it. How fun is it to beat each other up?"

Alfred snickered. "That's wrestling, retard."

Ivan—who had previously been leaning nonchalantly against Francis and Alfred's table—suddenly leaned forward, pressing his palms on the table. Now typically, if one were angry, they'd be frowning and glaring at their enemy…not Ivan, however; he was never one for showing his true emotions. So—in contradiction to his obvious anger—Ivan smiled a childishly cruel smile, his eyes shining with mirth.

"I would not be the one to talk, Jones," Ivan said, not unkindly—despite the threatening undertone.

Alfred seemed oblivious to the obvious threat in front of him, for he snickered, kicking his heals up on the desk. "Then shut up!"

"Alfred…"Francis hissed in warning; however, they continued bickering.

"Do not give me orders. It won't turn out so nice for you, da?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Why do you say "da"? It makes you sound…well, stupid."

In a swift motion, Ivan reached within his long coat, pulling out a length of pipe, and slammed it down on the desk. Alfred jumped, nearly falling backwards in his chair. Francis quickly high-tailed it back to where the other two were sitting (causing Iggy to snicker under his breath).

Alfred continued staring at Ivan's gloved hand that was clasped around the pipe, before glaring up at Ivan. "We have no need for violence here."

Ivan's smile seemed to alter slightly, sliding more into the "sneer" category. "And now you decide to act smart?"

"You're one to talk!"

"Do not forget that I am the one with the weapon."

"Weapon? It's a pipe."

"More than you have."

"So? I'm a baseball player!"

"I don't see how that's relevant…"

"I am physically strong, unlike you!"

"Unlike me? Do you think I'm little under this coat?"

"Little? Hell no. Fat and unmuscular, yes."

"You are just asking to be beat up…"

"No, that'd be stupid, dude."

Yao sighed heavily, as the two went back and forth. "Bickering for bickering's sake. This is going to be a long day, aru."

**_A/N Randomness…I suppose that's all this is going to be. Sorry for the wait, btw, but I've had work, drivers ed, online classes, etc. And the fact that it's finally warmed up in Indiana! WOOP! But…I got a sunburn…=_= It's painful to wear shirts…and I'm a girl, so I can't necessarily strip down…_**

**_…_**

**_Right, now that I've made this awkward for all parties involved..._**

**_Also, I called Romania Vladmir. Obviously. Anyway, just needed a little cameo, for that cute dude. XD_**

**_Also, thank you for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! You guys rock like the Beatles!_**

**_Please review!_**


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh God, you richies are SOsmart…"

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Nearly five minutes had passed, and the tense atmosphere that had emerged the same time as Ivan's pipe, had diminished. However, Alfred and Ivan were still immersed in their verbal sparring match.

"Hamburger lover."

"I take that as a compliment."

"It was my way of calling you fat."

"I'm not the one that hides his flab beneath a bulky coat."

"No, you hide it beneath your cocky attitude."

"Ha!"

"What now?"

"You said "cocky"! Hahaha!"

Francis groaned slumping against the bookshelf Ivan had been sitting on earlier. He honestly felt annoyed by this fighting...well, who wouldn't?

Yao was trying (in vain) to concentrate on the essay, but all that came out of his pencil was random lines—sort of chicken-scratchy looking.

Iggy seemed to be giving his full concentration to his paper, for his head was bowed low over the desk, his discolored hair shielding his face—but it was quite clear that whatever the strange boy was doing, he wasn't writing, though.

Francis groaned once again, letting his head lull to the side, eyeing the clock: Hardly ten minutes had passed.

'This is ridiculous! I am here for a crime I did not commit!' he internally fumed. 'And not only that, but on the day of graduation, nonetheless! Gilbert, Antonio, and I were going to go to Roderich's house to get ready, and hang out one last time, too...'

That last thought seemed to lessen his anger, though it made him extremely sad. Francis had enjoyed high school—he had received good grades, was very handsome, and was probably the most popular boy in the school. Add that to the fact that he had a bunch of great friends, and he was definitely going to miss this place.

Francis yawned, allowing himself to slouch a bit—a rare occurrence in itself. Ivan's and Alfred's conversation seemed to be fading into the background...all Francis could hear was the scratching of Yao and Iggy's pencils, and the "tick tick tick" of the clock. Was it just him, or did time seem to be going slower...

Francis jerked up, determined to stay awake (who knew what those delinquents would do to him, in that vulnerable state...)—however, he had no idea what to do.

He considered texting someone...but hardly anyone ever responded right away (cepting for Feliks and Liz, and he didn't feel like gossiping right now).

Then it hit him.

"Francis, you are an idiot..." he murmured quietly to himself. If either Yao or Iggy heard him, neither gave a sign that they had.

Francis needed entertainment—something to keep him awake.

And he was in a bloody library.

He stood up, stretching his back, before he began slowly walking though the isles of books.

The school's library was pretty nice, considering the size of the school (it was rather small in comparison to city schools). The walls were painted a soft beige color, and were decorated in several posters for "books gone movies". The carpet was a rather sickly green color, and had a few "loud" designs (having been put in place in the eighties). Most of the furniture was a light amber color, and wasn't too-overly sturdy—not that there was typically much rough-housing in the library, especially under Ms. Karpusi's sharp eyes (unlike her son—Heracles, who is rather lazy—that woman felt the need to constantly be moving around and scolding people; even for minor infractions). The library's best feature, however, was most definitely the ceiling, which consisted of colorful tiles (painted by the art department).

Francis wasn't a huge fan of reading—he didn't hang around the library in the morning, like Yao and his friends did—though he did enjoy the occasional book.

Francis rather enjoyed books from his—or rather his family's—country: France. His mother and father had moved to America before he was born, but he had been raised with the French language and culture (the amount of times his mother had dragged him to watch "Midnight in Paris" when it first came out was ridiculous).

He stopped, finally finding the book he was looking for; it was rather large, old, and leather-bound, but the curling letters still spelled out "Les Misérables".

He smiled slightly, as he weaved his way back out of the shelves and to a seat. There was no way he was going to be able to finish it, but at least he could get a good start.

When Francis sat down, Iggy finally lifted his head, his neck making some rather terrifying popping sounds as he did so. Yao ignored the odd boy as he stood, plucking a random book from a shelf. He snickered, settling down on the floor beside the shelf, humming an odd little tune under his breath.

Yao looked up smiling slightly. He stood, tucking his pencil behind his ear as he sat down near the goth boy.

"Harry Potter, aru!" he exclaimed, beaming. Iggy's bright green eyes suddenly appeared over the top of the book, staring at Yao like he was insane.

Yao chuckled awkwardly. "Uh-huh...yeah...I read those a while ago. I liked them! You know, my favorite character was Luna-"

Iggy suddenly set his book down, eyes trained firmly on Yao.

The Asian boy jumped at the intense stare. "-Lovegood...and uh...I-I'm going to go now..." Yao quickly stood up, backing away.

"Ha! That chick is afraid of Iggy!" Alfred exclaimed, suddenly "exiting" he and Ivan's conversation.

"I am a boy, aru-"

"-whatever. I'm bored." Alfred stood up, trying to balance on one foot. Yao glared, but decided against speaking further on the matter.

Ivan glanced at Alfred, before grabbing a few books from the shelf beside him. He flipped through the top one. "I don't know why people like books so much…" Everyone looked at him, as he held the book—now visible as "Tom Sawyer"—by it's cover.

"I mean," he continued, "it's just paper, da?"

He ripped the book in half, something akin to curiosity painting his face.

"AIYAH! Why did you do that?!" Yao exclaimed his eyes widening. The others—including Iggy—gaped at Ivan in shock.

The large boy shrugged, smiling. He then proceeded to purposely rip the book apart, page-by-page.

Yao angrily jumped to his feet, glaring. "What the HELL?!"

Alfred rose his eyebrow at Yao, before sneering at Ivan. "What? Can't read, big bad English?"

Ivan seemed unfazed by Alfred's jab, even pulling himself up onto a higher shelf.

"From what I hear, you can not read it too good yourself," Ivan smirked.

"Actually, it's "read it too well-"" Yao began.

Alfred jumped to his feet, his bright blue eyes seemingly glowing with anger at Ivan. "Shut up!"

Francis stood up the same time as Alfred, setting a hand on the other's arm. He knew that Alfred could easily break loose from his grasp, if he so desired; Francis held on tight, nonetheless.

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "I have heard things at parties. You are dyslexic, probably have ADHD-"

"Don't you DARE, you drunken commie!"

"Don't I dare WHAT, Jones?" Ivan said in a patronizing tone. If Yao didn't know better, he could have sworn that Ivan was TRYING to make Alfred mad—then again, Yao did know better: Ivan WAS trying to make Alfred mad, probably for no other reason than the fact that he was IVAN and Alfred was ALFRED.

"Don't you DARE talk about things you know nothing about! You are an idiot who has swam through high school in a vat of vodka!"

Ivan laughed, slowly clapping his gloved hands. "That is a unique way of phrasing it! I will have to use that sometime!"

Alfred snickered, pushing off Francis's arm. "That's nothin' to be proud of, you know." When Ivan's smile didn't falter, Alfred decided to play this out by forcing Ivan to the "defensive" side.

"Course, you KNOW what everyone has been sayin', right?"

Francis caught movement in his peripheral vision: Iggy was now frowning slightly, his head tilted forward a little bit. Some strange feeling bubbled up within the "pretty-boy"—something that could be called "pity" or maybe "regret"; he wasn't sure. One thing for sure, was that Iggy knew what was coming.

Perhaps it was that odd feeling that pushed Francis to say something—even if it was just a short and quiet warning: "Jones…leave it be…"

Alfred continued his rant, despite that. "They're sayin' that you're gonna be behind bars by Monday." There was still no reaction. Francis vaguely wondered why he was feeling this pity for Ivan—for it was no longer only for the "Arthur" that had vanished all those years ago into "Iggy". After all, yesterday Gilbert had joked about these things, and he [Francis] had LAUGHED (after all this was IVAN: The biggest bully in the school, who used to beat up sweet little Toris).

Somehow, everything just seemed so MEAN when it was said to Ivan's face.

"Alfred, enough is enough," Francis said in a louder, more confident voice.

"I agree, aru," Yao added, crossing his arms.

Iggy remained silent, but he cast a curious glance at Francis…before he continued reading, that is.

Alfred rose his eyebrows at Ivan, and the Russian returned the gesture.

"But you know what I think, Braginski?" Alfred asked. Ivan motioned for him to continue.

"I think you'll be there before the night ends."

Ivan continued smiling. _He is always smiling._

"The way you talk, it makes me wonder: Did papa not love you enough when you were younger?" Alfred stiffened. "Do you feel you have been neglected? Why else would you be like this?"

When Alfred stiffened, Francis cast him a look. He found it strange that someone like ALFRED—Mr. Baseball Star—would be sensitive about something…

But then again, no one would expect Francis—Mr. Popular—to have secrets or a dark past…

"Why are YOU the way YOU are, huh?" Alfred growled. "Why are you such a bully? Why do you beat people up? Why did you beat nice little Toris up?" At that, Ivan stood up straight, his eyes glinting angrily.

"I never laid a hand on him-"

"-right; whatever you say. But we've seen the scars. AND we all saw that little tantrum you threw when you found out Toris cheated on you with Feliks-"

"-you know NOTHING!"

Alfred—in one swift motion—stripped off his bomber jacket, and flexed his arms. "I may not be school-smart, but I don't know nothing." Yao almost laughed at how absurdly that sentence was phrased.

Ivan snarled. "Are you threatening me, Jones?"

Alfred shrugged. "I dunno. I suppose I'm just wondering what gives YOU the right to even TALK to me."

"Jones, that's ENOUGH!" Francis exclaimed, his tone pleading.

Alfred turned to snarl at the other three in the room. "You're all thinking it! He's below us!"

Ivan leaned against the wall nearest to him. "And how am I below you? Tell me that."

"Take your pick!" Alfred spat over his shoulder.

Ivan's face became frighteningly blank—Alfred didn't see this.

Ivan stalked over to the door—Alfred didn't see this either.

He did, however—along with everyone else in the room—hear what Ivan said:

"At least I show who I really am! You all are fake—plastic…But no: Plastic lasts a long time, da? You all…you will all disappear soon enough. You are paper people, living your paper lives. YOU ARE FAKE!"

And with that: Ivan left the room, slamming the door behind him.

**_A/N What is this? Another chapter so soon? What?_**

**_Why am I asking so many questions?_**

**_Ehehehe! Anyway, the amount of reviews, favorites, and follows for this story is ridiculous! I mean, this is probably my most popular story! XD Thank you so much!_**

**_A few people have mentioned how I have incorporated some stuff from the actual show (ie England's haircut, America and England's fight, etc.). I am soooo glad people caught that, and I am not making pointless references nobody is getting…_**

**_Also, I think I will finally have "Iggy" talk next chapter (OMG)._**

**_Random Pole: Who is your favorite Hetalia character and WHY?_**

**_Also, if any one wants something included in this, I am up for suggestions! If not for a suggestion after chapter one, we wouldn't have had Belarus in chapter two, and her little mystery hanging around in the air! XD_**

**_So…Please review!_**


	5. Chapter 5

_Cardboard_.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Alfred was upset―that much was apparent. The others just weren't sure whether he was mad or sad; his expression just looked kind of...constipated. No one wanted to really talk to him, however―as previously stated, he was rather an ass.

Add that to the fact that Alfred was ALFRED as in ALFRED F. JONES...and him being upset just seemed sort of...unreal. Impossible.

So thus, Yao went back to his essay, and Iggy and Francis went back to their respective books.

Alfred glanced at the others―how they were ignoring him...he rather liked being the center of attention, and he HATED being ignored.

Alfred sighed heavily, plopping down on a desktop. When none of the other occupants moved to comfort him/ask what was wrong, he sighed even louder kicking his heels against the bottom of the table, much like a child would at the doctor's office.

When the trio continued ignoring him, Alfred scowled, growling, "Aren't you gonna ask what's wrong?"

Yao briefly glanced up at Alfred, wondering why the popular boy believed that they―especially himself and Iggy―should care about his emotional state. Alfred certainly never gave a damn when insulting others, especially the not-so-populars, like Ivan or Roderich...or himself, for that matter. Alfred constantly inflicted emotional pain on all of them...why would they care that Alfred was in a mood?

Francis was thinking similar thoughts, though not as drastic. Francis was as popular as Alfred―though they were at the top of the social pyramid for different reasons.

Alfred was good―no, GREAT at sports. He was the running-back on the football team, he lead the offense on the basketball team, and he had the highest home-run record on the baseball team, since the 80s' (not to mention he was a great pitcher―his fastest ball having been clocked at 78 MPH). Add all that to the fact that Alfred held the record for eating the most hamburgers at the County Fair (his only real competition having been Liz), and the fact that he was a great partier (and rumored to be great in bed), and Alfred was the person you HAD to have around.

Francis, however...he was cool. Cool in a way, which he had great come-backs, a gentle and calm personality, and charms like none before him. Francis was good at everything, but great at nothing―people were never jealous of Francis (that he knew of) because he was just so lovable, that you would have to force yourself to hate him. Francis liked being around people who weren't as highly ranked as himself, like Antonio (who everyone sort-of shied away from, since he some-how got labeled a pedophile a while back―even though he was too kind and innocent to even THINK about doing anything like THAT to anyone, especially kids), Gilbert (his being an albino often caused issues when going to places where there would be a lot of sun exposure―thus, people often excluded him), and Roderich.

At the thought of Roderich, Francis sighed heavily, his anger at Alfred burning a bit stronger. Roderich had had a tough life; he was constantly beat up at his old school, until some kid named Vash came around and started acting as the brunette's "protector". That is...until Vash started abusing Roderich HIMSELF. It took the leg incident for people to finally figure out that Roderich NEEDED to get away.

Roderich and his mum then moved to their town―and oh, how the boy had been quiet and reserved. Francis remembered little of Roderich during their elementary years―only that the boy played the piano for the talent show every year (and it seemed every year, the songs got longer and more boring).

When they hit middle school, Gilbert hit a rather rough-patch―along with everyone else.

Middle school was horrible. Everyone was fighting and dating and bullying each other—there was even some sickness going around, if he remembered correctly...Gilbert who had been previously known as the class clown―started really picking on Roderich. Liz often intervened, chasing Gilbert away...but the albino was like a boomerang: He always came right back.

That's when Francis and Antonio joined Gilbert. For the life of him, Francis could not remember why he felt the urge to do so...perhaps he hadn't gotten used to Roderich's tendencies and ways of acting (which were rather annoying). But whatever the reason, the three of them relentlessly bullied the poor boy until he would run off crying.

Iggy then joined up with Roderich...and Francis can not remember how THAT happened at all. Iggy was less-silent then, and he and Francis were constantly screaming at each other about everything and nothing. Now that he thinks about it, Francis figures that HE was the main reason Iggy partnered up with Roderich.

There was also some kid from the Netherlands that was on Roderich's side for some reason. Nobody really thought much about him, though.

Anyway, a lot of shit happened. Roderich got his ass handed to him a number of times, in their fights. It wasn't until Liz TRULY put her foot down that the trio realized how much they had been hurting Roderich.

What followed was an extremely complex trail of friendships and other various relationships―it was all so confusing, that nobody even tried to keep track.

And somehow, Francis ended up being popular, with several amazing friends and only one possible enemy: Iggy.

Perhaps it was the fact that Iggy never seemed charmed by his charming-ness. Or perhaps it was because Iggy was just not sociable. Or maybe it was because the odd boy threw a frog at Francis in Biology during freshman year, because Francis had called him a "black sheep". Who knows?

The point is, Francis and Alfred were two, TOTALLY different types of "popular".

Iggy didn't look up from his book, too entranced by re-reading the Harry Potter books for the…was it the eighth time?

Alfred looked at all of them, feeling a bit hurt, though he knew he shouldn't be surprised. He knew he was an ass, sometimes, but he really was an OK guy! Most people just didn't try to get close enough to really get to know the real him. And if anyone got too close…he pushed them away.

Perhaps he felt a bit of guilt about the whole Arthur thing, but he didn't want to show it. No regrets.

He shook his head, not wanting to think about that at the moment. Right now, the most important thing to him was to get the others to pay attention to him. He needed it right now.

"Why are y'all ignoring me?" he asked, coming over to where they were siting. Once again, only Francis and Yao spared him a brief look, Iggy smirking slightly at whatever he was reading. This time, however, Francis spoke.

"Why do you think, mon chere?"

Alfred shrugged, not realizing that the question was rhetorical. "I dunno. Why?"

"You are an ass, aru!" Yao said quietly, though the whisper seemed to echo through the library.

Alfred rose an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh yeah? How."

"You are constantly rude to everyone, and your words constantly hurt everyone!" Yao said. With this being the last day that he'd EVER have to see any of his classmates EVER, Yao felt a burst of boldness. He liked that powerful feeling, like he was being liberated from chains that had been weighing him down, for so long…

Alfred was laughing. "My WORDS? Have you EVER heard the phrase, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me?"" He rose an eyebrow.

"Then why are YOU so upset? I didn't see Ivan lay a finger on you," Yao retorted. Alfred stiffened.

"That's different…"

"How?" Yao snapped. Francis nearly put a hand on his shoulder, fearing he'd get too over-exuberant, and try to pick a fight with Alfred.

"It just IS alright. He's...IVAN."

There was a brief silence, where Francis and Yao thought over Alfred's words. Perhaps it was the fact that THEY had just used that excuse (albeit, in their heads) against Alfred a few minutes previously, that they were stunned into a thoughtful silence. Alfred huffed indignantly, plopping down on the floor.

A few beats later, (in a rather quiet voice) Francis spoke: "And I'm Francis, and he's Yao, and you're Alfred."

Yao tilted his head, unsure where Francis was going with this. Alfred murmured "And your point is—besides stating the obvious...?"

Francis blew air through his teeth. "My POINT is, that we all have many layers to us; our lives are far more complicated than people think. We aren't just the labels people have put on us. We aren't the paper people like Ivan says."

Yao moved so fast, he looked as though he teleported; he was soon trying to copy down Francis's words, thinking them very fitting for his speech.

Alfred—however—still looked very confused, as he didn't even consider his very-similar earlier thoughts. Then, all of the sudden, his face lit up, the understanding behind Francis's words finally hitting him.

Francis smiled that oh-so-charming-smile of his. "Do you understand?"

"Yes!" Alfred pumped his fist in the air. "We are cardboard people!"

Francis buried his head in his hands. "Mon chere?" Alfred looked at him questioningly. "You are _désespéré_."

Alfred laughed loudly. "Whatever that means!"

"He said 'you are hopeless'," Yao answered effortlessly, not even looking up from his writing. Francis looked a bit shocked.

"You know French?"

"And Spanish, German, Mandarin Russian, I'm learning Latin, and I know English, of course," Yao answered, feigning nonchalance—however, he was actually rather proud of his accomplishments.

"So...you're, like, really smart!" Alfred said, as though he didn't know that Yao was valedictorian. Then again...he probably didn't.

Francis murmured under his breath, as Yao straightened his back. "Why don't you try to explain what you mean in ways HE would understand."

Francis looked at his smaller classmate. "As in...?"

"Provide examples, aru! Like visible learning, or a hands-on approach. Apparently teachers are using those methods more and more, these days." Francis didn't even care to know how Yao had come across that information.

"Alright, let's see..." Francis bit his lip, looking around. He was half-way hoping that an "example" would come crashing through the ceiling, but he doubted THAT was going to happen. "Um...well, take...YAO! Take YAO for an example!"

Yao's head shot up, causing the pencil that he had placed behind his ear to clatter to the floor. "Why ME, aru?!"

Francis ignored him. "Well, everyone sees Yao as the "smart kid", right? The one that gets all the good grades, the teacher's pet, the one that we will all work for someday, right?" Yao turned bright red at the description, but Alfred nodded.

"But," Francis continued, "that's just the label, you know? What people think of him! That's probably not ALL Yao's about, right?!" It was rather apparent—around that time—that Francis was getting WAY into his speech. "I mean, we don't know EVERYTHING about him, RIGHT?! HE'S PROBABLY GOT A WHOLE SECRET LIFE WE DON'T EVEN KNOW ABOUT!" Francis stopped his rant, as he took large gasps of air. Yao, Alfred, and even Iggy were all gaping at him; they all silently agreed that the last thing Francis had said had to be the most enthusiastic sentence they had ever heard, in their lives.

Francis shifted under the scrutiny of his classmates; "What?"

Iggy and Alfred turned to look at Yao. The Chinese boy was blushing, almost-as-bad-as Francis. "I'm not THAT complex, aru."

Alfred turned to Francis. "I still don't get what you're trying to say, dude."

Francis ran a hand through his hair. "Well...then take ME for example..." Francis vaguely wondered why he was still trying to get the other teen to understand—this whole conversation wasn't THAT important. But Francis was a very determined young man; that was another detail about himself that few knew about.

"Everyone knows me as the "popular guy", the "prince of the school". But it's not that easy, you know? I'm not really that simple..." Alfred was staring at him with his full attention, along with Yao. Seemingly uninterested, Iggy had turned back to his book.

"I get good grades, and I try to be nice to everyone, which isn't an easy feat. Add all that to the stress of being popular, and I have a title to uphold." He took a deep breath, a rather dark look flashing across his face. "And my parents don't help matters either. They're constantly buying me things, trying to win over my affection But it's not because they love me—no, they haven't TRULY loved me for a long time. NO! It's because they want to USE ME to GET BACK AT EACH OTHER!"

By the end of this rant, the three other occupants in the room were once again staring at Francis in shock. The French boy was glaring daggers at the floor, his fists clenching and un-clenching. It was rather unnerving to see the rather calm teen become so angry and worked up.

It appeared neither Alfred nor Yao wanted to break the silence, as they shifted uncomfortably. Iggy had already stuck his nose in the book again, looking as though he was reading away.

Francis was about to plop on the ground to pout properly, when something made him freeze.

"Ha!"

Alfred, Yao, and Francis looked at each other, before turning to Iggy. He was reading as though he had said nothing, the bright green eyes they knew he had hidden beneath the long black hair. However, the slight smirk that was visible...well, it made the culprit PRETTY obvious.

After they had stared at the self-proclaimed "Wizard" and "Punk-Rocker" for about a minute, said teen looked up, his eyes staring directly at Francis.

Iggy raised a bushy eyebrow.

Francis glared. "SHUT UP!"

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

**_A/N Before you rant and rave about WHY HAVEN'T I UPDATED?! I am just going to list three things: My job at the library, Drivers Ed, and AP World History. Thank you very much._**

**_XD Just kidding. Yeah, I've been busy though. After I got through bloody history, I decided to take a break and let my brain breath a bit. So I started my own Youtube channel! Whoop! My name on there is "Pozagee X." and I basically read fanfiction aloud (the good, as well as the bad). If you have any recommendations for it (even your own) send em' to me in a message on here, or comment on Youtube. *shameless advertising* XD_**

**_Anyway, I am rather fond of this chapter, if only for the comic relief. I am HOPING to update faster, but who knows? _**

**_Anyway, thank you all for your support, and such, and the new chapter will hopefully be coming shortly._**

**_((And PS for all you Russia fans: you will LIKE next chapter.))_**

**_Please review!_**


	6. Chapter 6

_"I am numb."_

_OOO_

Ivan had never been good at sports—granted, he never tried...

But he just found the whole concept annoying and confusing. Why would people PURPOSELY throw themselves into situations where they could get badly injured, just to earn points that made no difference in their lives in the long run.

Ivan didn't consider himself smart—quite the opposite, in fact—but even he found it just plain stupid and pointless to play sports.

He looked down at the basketball cradled in his hands. So pointless.

He flung it at the basket, knowing it would just bounce off the rim.

When he was younger, he had wanted to play sports really bad—especially basketball. His best friend Toris was an amazing basketball player, despite his size, and Ivan would often visit his house to try and convince Toris to teach him how to play.

Toris wasn't often...agreeable.

**~FLASHBACK~**

"No, Ivan, you dribble with ONE HAND!" a short brunette exclaimed. Normally, he was quite kind and reserved, but they had been at this since school let out.

Ivan pouted, before attempting to dribble the orange ball the way Toris did. However, it bounced off his toe, rolling away. "I _can't!_ It's too HARD!"

Toris rubbed his forehead. "This is why you need to join the team. The coach is much better at teaching basketball than me."

Ivan's face lit up, before it darkened slightly. "Does it...you know...cost money?"

Toris shifted. "Well, it costs to get into the game, and the uniforms cost fifteen dollars, I think..."

Ivan shook his head. "Nevermind. Besides..." Here, the blond smiled a rather creepy smile. "I like learning from Toris."

The brunette quickly turned from him, so Ivan wouldn't see how nervous he was. He dabbed at his forehead with a cloth, marveling at how hot it was this late in the fall. When he turned back to Ivan, he stared in shock at the Russian boy's attire.

"Aren't you...hot?" he questioned hesitantly. You see, Ivan was wearing an awkwardly-large coat, over a sweatshirt with a pair of stained sweatpants to match—with the temperature in the high 70s, if not the 80s, it was a wonder Ivan hadn't stripped off any of the clothing.

Especially now that Toris really looked at him; he was sweating buckets, and his face was abnormally flushed.

"H-here...let me help you with that..." Toris gently tugged on the sleeve of Ivan's coat.

Pain shot across his face and he blinked in shock; somehow, he had ended up on the ground. No; Ivan had hit him, right across the face.

The Russian boy's eyes were glinting dangerously, though his face was scarily devoid of emotion. "You don't touch me, da?"

"D-da...I-um...you just looked..." Toris was in such a shocked state, he wasn't even sure of what to say, for fear it might anger Ivan.

Ivan turned from him, to pick up the basketball. His shadow was rather long, signaling the end of the day. He moved his jaw back and forth slightly, as if trying to make a decision. "I can spend the night here, right?"

Toris bit his lip shifting slightly. "S-sorry...not tonight, Ivan."

"Why?"

This was making Toris's uncomfortable-ness grow even further. "I...I have loads of homework to do...sorry..."

Ivan bowed his head, for a moment looking vulnerable. "I could maybe do homework with you, da?"

Toris hesitated. He didn't like Ivan—no, you could even say he loathed him. But it was really hard—harder than it should be—to see Ivan so desperate. So weak.

"S-sorry Ivan..."

Ivan bit his lip, before—in a fit of anger—he threw the basketball up onto Toris's roof. "Fine. See you at school on Monday, friend!"

Toris breathed in and out slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. For a moment, he had been sure Ivan was going to shove the basketball down his throat.

Ivan had walked out of Toris's front gate, and was walking down the road towards his own house, when he smacked into someone.

"Like, watch where you're going!" Ivan blinked slowly, as he looked down. It was Feliks Łukasiewicz—he was an odd boy (?) who liked to hang around Toris.

Feliks—seeing who he had bumped into—quickly back-tracked. "I mean...Ivan! What a...fabulous surprise!" He smiled a smile that was as fake as the blond that colored the Polish boy's hair.

Ivan muttered something under his breath, already not in a good mood from Toris's rejection. He pushed Feliks aside, squeezing past him on the sidewalk, continuing his journey.

However, something made him pause; he had been to Felik's birthday, when they were in kindergarten; he didn't live anywhere near this neighborhood (Feliks could have moved in that span of time, granted, but that did not occur to Ivan's young mind).

Ivan quickly turned around, trying to act stealthy as he followed the shorter boy—he wasn't very inconspicuous, but Feliks seemed to be wrapped up in his own little world, as he danced over the cracks in the sidewalk, gracefully.

Feliks came to an abrupt stop, causing Ivan to quickly scurry behind some overgrown shrubs. Ivan released a breath, when Feliks continued on his way. By this time, the sun was nearly set; Ivan knew he would have to pay for his tardiness when he returned home (for he probably had a mountain of chores to do, and papa didn't like it when he shirked on his duties).

Ivan followed him for a little bit more, before—once again—ducking behind some trash cans. Feliks looked down at something in his hand, before smiling and bouncing inside the gate.

Ivan knew where they were, but he didn't want to admit it to himself. He slowly unstooped, peaking over the vine-woven gate.

"Toooooooriiiiiiiis! Where aaaaaaaare yooooooou?" Feliks sang as he bounded through the gate, finishing his little jig off with a flamboyant twirl.

Almost immediately, Toris came rushing out of his house. "Be quiet! Ivan just left!" Toris shifted nervously, his eyes darting around.

Feliks rolled his eyes. "Nah, I saw him a while back when I was walking here. He was a real bitch, too! Trying to like, push me off the sidewalk and stuff, you know?"

Toris seemed to relax a bit. Feliks's smile faltered, when he saw the still-red mark on the brunette's cheek. "You should, like, really stop hanging around with him. It's like, unhealthy or something."

Toris sighed, rubbing his cheek. "I just...feel bad for him, I guess."

"Why?" Feliks sounded both unconvinced and disapproving. "He's a bully."

"I know, but-"

"Whatever, enough of this stupid stuff. I, for one, want to have a 'My Little Pony,' marathon. COME ON!" Feliks started dragging Toris towards the door.

"Feliks..." Toris said hesitantly, "you know...if you keep acting like this...people are going to say you're..."

Feliks raised an eyebrow. "Gay?" He laughed, as he started to tickle Toris. "It's not called 'being gay', it's called 'being FABULOUS'!" Toris laughed, allowing Feliks to drag him inside, leaving the sleeping bag the blond had been carrying laying on the ground outside.

Ivan slowly backed away. He felt so many things at once, that he felt numb; he didn't even know that that could happen. It was strange how feeling numb sort of hurt.

As he walked back to his house, he wondered '_Why do they hate me_? _Why can't I be friends with Toris and everyone? What is_ wrong _with me?'_

**~END FLASHBACK~**

Ivan, sometimes, still wondered that, though not for the same reasons. He knew why people didn't like him; it was obvious now. But he still wondered what was wrong with him, to make him the way he was.

He wished he could have grown up normal with a loving mother and father, with his sisters loving him (not too much, not too little), with good friends, and normal grades, and no nightmares, and no pain...he really did. He would probably be 'normal' then, and he wouldn't have had to try and pretend.

This year, though, he had truly given up. All through elementary, things had been rocky, but in middle school (and later high school), he had been thrown to the rapids. Now he was sailing through the nice calm part, thoroughly beaten and broken. He didn't care what anyone thought of him, because this was HIM and no amount of pretending would do anything about that.

And that was why he hated those people in the other room. They pretended, they lied, they were just so _fake._ It annoyed him so much.

It wasn't fair for them, though. Why do they feel the need to pretend?! They have nothing to hide!

Ivan flung the basketball, and it fell through.

"What are you doing in here?!" a voice exclaimed. Ivan let out a hissing breath, turning to see the principal standing in the doorway. He rolled his eyes, going back to trying to murder the orange ball.

"I'm working on a scholarship," he growled sarcastically.

"Go back to the library. Today is meant to be a day for punishment and learning, not pleasure."

"Do I look like I'm doing this for pleasure?" Ivan sneered, because honestly: This was hurting him more than anything. Why he continued to play and drag up these painful memories: It was beyond him.

Mr. Vargas looked baffled for a minute, not sure what to say. Then he scowled, pointing towards the exit to the hallway. "Out."

Ivan glared at the ball, before throwing it at the ground, resulting in a deafening 'thunk', and it's bouncing to nearly the ceiling. Mr. Vargas looked like a fish out of water, what with the way his eyes bulged and his jaw flapped; that caused Ivan to smirk a bit.

As Mr. Vargas stared at Ivan's retreating back, he felt his temper rear up. One thing many didn't know about their supposedly calm principal was that he had major issues with anger management. He took pills, true, but that horrible, burning feeling sometimes came bubbling to the surface—and when it did, there was no controlling it.

He supposed it was in the blood.

Without warning he wrapped a strong hand around Ivan's upper arm, squeezing tightly. The Russian boy's body went from being relaxed to extremely tense—so tense he was shaking.

In a voice that did little to hide his frustration and anger, Mr. Vargas whispered in Ivan's ear.

"You think you're something special, right? That you deserve some reward for all the hard work you've put into your disgusting reputation? All those fights, all those detentions, those day-reportings...but you know what irks me the most?" Ivan did not move, he did not breath. "No answer? Well turn to me, boy, so you may hear me loud and clear." He didn't give Ivan a chance to move—not that the boy would have—before he forcefully whirled him around.

"Your lack of respect, Mr. Braginski. That is what is the most annoying. Do you know why?" No answer. "Because you are nothing. You are so far below me, that there is no hope for you to ever reach where I am-which is rather bad on your part, considering that I am rather low on the scale of life, myself..."

Ivan said nothing—he didn't dare to. He felt numb like he had that day—and it still hurt.

Then suddenly, it was as though every sensory receptor in his body was focused on those useless things that hid in his eyes. They stung and made his chest feel tight. His face grew hot and his mind felt overwhelmed. He felt as though he was choking on some invisible force, welling up in his throat.

When he opened his mouth, a shaking gasp came out instead, along with a bit of moisture, which rolled down his cheek.

Mr. Vargas looked baffled and confused again—so much so that Ivan wanted to laugh.

And laugh he did.

He laughed and laughed, the same bitter, angry, and hurt laugh he laughed every time he laughed. He laughed until his cheeks were damp and his face was red, and his chest and stomach was tight, and he was leaning against the principal (why did he look so guilty?) so he wouldn't topple over, from not breathing.

In a way, laughing was the exact same as crying.

**_A/N I know this update is a little late! I'm sorry! As always, I thank everyone that has favorited/followed/reviewed this! You are all my sunshine (best corny pickup line ever)._**

**_Anyway, is there anything you want to see? I try to put everything you guys want to see in this (if you request it; I am not a mind reader. yet.)._**

**_So...please review!_**


End file.
